Warhammer 40,000: Echoes of Divinity

"What are you talking about? Who is the Deceiver?"

Qin Mo's words made the Shapeshifter pause—its ever-shifting face twisting, rippling, as if struggling to process the question.

For the first time since their conversation began, it hesitated.

Qin Mo had expected denial.

He had expected anger.

But he had not expected complete ignorance.

This doesn't prove its innocence.

Nor does it confirm it was telling the truth before.

No C'tan should be unaware of Mephet'ran—the Deceiver.

The cosmic trickster who had ensnared even the Silent King, whispering honeyed lies that led the Necrons into their soulless biotransference.

It was Mephet'ran who sowed the lies that convinced Szarekh and his dynasty that the curse of flesh could be cast off in exchange for immortal, undying metal.

A being so insidiously cunning that it once convinced the C'tan that the most exquisite delicacy in existence wasn't the souls of sentient beings—

But the flesh of their own kind.

It was Mephet'ran who whispered the lie that led to the War in Heaven's final betrayal.

And even among the C'tan, it was the one that survived—shattered, perhaps, but never truly destroyed.

Mephet'ran's cunning was legendary.

It had achieved the highest form of deception—

It had deceived itself.

Qin Mo narrowed his eyes.

If this Shapeshifter wasn't Mephet'ran itself, then—

It was a fractured remnant, its mind a splintered reflection, lost in the endless void of aeons past.

Or—

Everything it had said was a lie.

"I'll give you two hints."

The Shapeshifter stabilized, its form coalescing into something vaguely humanoid, raising two fingers.

"First—your power is returning. The longer you wait, the stronger you'll become."

Qin Mo remained impassive.

"And the second?"

"Second—don't think killing those wretched bugs means the war is over."

"Explain."

Qin Mo didn't trust it—but information was still valuable.

Even a liar's words could be useful, if framed correctly.

The Shapeshifter's voice distorted, warping between tones and accents, shifting from a whisper to an echoing chorus.

But its words were clear.

"Your planet is being corrupted.

You and the Genestealers are merely pieces on a far greater board.

I have limited foresight—but I must warn you.

The first person you see when you leave the Underhive…

That man worships a False God in the Sea of Souls."

Qin Mo exhaled slowly.

A prophecy? Or another manipulation? Qin Mo wasn't one to blindly trust supernatural entities.

But—he could appreciate a straight answer.

He had little patience for the cryptic riddles of warp-touched beings.

The Eldar Farseers loved to speak in half-truths, riddles laced with hidden agendas.

"Appreciate the warning.

Though, at this point, it's less of a warning and more of a full disclosure.

I'll take it into consideration."

Qin Mo nodded, his expression unreadable.

The Shapeshifter's glowing eyes locked onto his own.

"You will see that I was right."

It leaned closer.

"I can help you become the ruler of these humans.

But you must atone—for your past betrayal."

It searched his gaze.

Looking for guilt.

It found none.

Qin Mo smirked, tapping his own temple.

"You do realize my mind is still human, right?"

The Shapeshifter nodded.

"Then why the hell would I atone?"

Qin Mo's voice dripped with amusement.

"I never built weapons for the Necrons. Never aided the Silent King.

Why should I feel guilty for something I never did?"

He laughed.

"No… No, no, no, no…"

The Shapeshifter shook its head repeatedly, its form flickering.

Its face warped, twisting into a series of conflicting expressions.

This… this isn't how it's supposed to be…"

"Goodbye."

Qin Mo waved dismissively.

"Next time you invade my mind—at least announce yourself first."

And with that, he tore himself from the dream.

....

Qin Mo's eyes snapped open, staring at the wall in deep thought.

His pulse steady.

His thoughts sharp.

Had he been too blunt?

Perhaps.

But he knew better than to entertain the whispers of cosmic entities.

In the grim darkness of the far future "the Warhammer's universe", gods were rarely benevolent.

Whether the Shapeshifter was a shard of the Deceiver or not, its words couldn't be trusted.

When dealing with eldritch beings, it was always best to remain cautious.

"Knock∼. Knock∼. Knock∼."

A sharp rapping at the door interrupted his thoughts.

He looked up.

The door cracked open, and Klein peeked in.

After confirming Qin Mo wasn't deep in research, he stepped inside.

"What is it?"

Klein unfolded a schematic.

"I want to inspect with you the passage leading into the lower hive."

Qin Mo glanced at the blueprint.

"Of course."

....

A transport gunship descended, guided by ground crews toward a designated landing zone.

With the Genestealer war nearly concluded, operations had shifted toward hunting down the last remnants of rebellion.

A full regiment had been deployed to secure the passage entrance, ensuring a controlled excavation.

As Qin Mo and Klein stepped off the gunship, they passed an old fortress—

The ruins of the 44th Regiment's stronghold.

Once, he and Grey had defended it.

Now, it stood battered and worn.

"This place was supposed to be demolished."

Klein gestured at the ruins.

"But since you fought here as a soldier, it will remain standing forever."

"Tear it down."

Qin Mo's voice was flat, emotionless.

"I hold no attachment to this place."

To him, the 44th Regiment meant nothing.

It had been a prison.

A place of beatings, humiliation, and servitude.

Klein sighed.

Then, he smirked.

"I went to the academy with Burr. What's your opinion of him?"

"An idiot."

Qin Mo answered without hesitation.

"Only the most forsaken souls in the Imperium would end up serving under him."

Klein chuckled, nodding.

His agreement was written all over his face.

....

They entered a massive artificial corridor.

A colossal checkpoint—

Large enough to fit four regiments marching side by side.

Its walls loomed high, reinforced with ancient adamantium plating, each slab marked with the faded insignia of long-forgotten forge worlds.

The air was thick with dust and the faint tang of machine oil, remnants of an age when this passage had served a far greater purpose than mere transit.

The vaulted ceiling was lined with dormant lum-globes, flickering erratically as power surged intermittently through forgotten conduits.

At its center, a rail system stretched into the distance—

Train cars large enough to transport Leman Russ battle tanks.

This was a new addition—built by the Logistic Drones.

Because eventually, they would have to ascend into the lower hive.

And logistics were vital.

After traveling ten kilometers, they reached the end of the line.

A figure in Thunderborn-pattern power armor awaited them.

Anruida.

Unlike his war-loving comrades, Anruida was a scribe—a scholar reluctant in battle, yet necessary in war.

His task?

Oversee the excavation.

"As you can see—clearing this passage won't be easy."

Anruida gestured forward.

Qin Mo looked up.

The tunnel ahead was completely sealed.

Far larger than the checkpoint before—

A titanic structure.

Two kilometers high.

Seven kilometers wide.

Klein studied his schematics.

"Ancient engineering is incredible. We don't even know why they built such a massive passage."

Qin Mo's eyes darkened.

"Thousands—maybe tens of thousands of years ago…

The lower hive may have been a weapons factory.

One capable of producing war machines beyond your understanding."